


The Hand, the Head, and the Heart

by lazy_daze



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-31
Updated: 2011-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-25 03:16:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_daze/pseuds/lazy_daze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danneel Harris lives a normal, dull life - with a normal, dull job and a normal, dull boyfriend. Until she sees classical pianist Genevieve Cortese at a recital - the beautiful performance unlocks the artistic inspiration Danneel thought she'd lost upon leaving art school three years ago. Danneel paints again, her trademark rich abstract pieces bursting forth, and her life turns around and upside down in more ways than one.</p><p>A chance meeting leads Genevieve and Danneel to form a friendship and connection which comes to a head when Genevieve asks Danneel to paint her. Their connection and chemistry is something unexpected and terrifying to Danneel - but if she lets it, it could be something beautiful. A story about music, art, passion and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hand, the Head, and the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Vaginal fisting  
>  **A/N** : Written for thelittlebang panfandom femslash challenge!
> 
> Huge thank yous to go out to balefully and missyjack for amazing beta jobs, to my awesome and kind cheerleader fadeoutin, and my enthusiastic lovely artist culper355 and the beautiful work she's produced for this.
> 
> Art: [culper355's Art Post](http://thelittlebang.livejournal.com/41258.html)

The Hand, the Head, and the Heart

\--

Danneel rubbed at her arms, trying to rein in her irritation. Mark had tried - she did want to give him credit for that at least - but it was the day after their anniversary, and it was pretty obvious he hadn't realized what day it was until yesterday, and this was all he could find at the last minute.

It was cold as they walked through the campus to the recital hall, the wind blowing in from the lake cutting through the gaps in her wool jacket.

"Honey, you know I don't even like classical music all that much," she said, wondering if she could convince him to just go home and watch a movie in their warm apartment with some takeout, but his mouth tightened.

"No, Danni," he said, hand tightening on her wrist. "It's our anniversary, and this is _romantic_ , and anyway I got these tickets on a high recommendation. She's supposed to be amazing."

By _high recommendation_ he probably meant five stars on an online forum, she thought, perhaps a little meanly, but it was also probably true.

"Fine," she said, "but I'm blaming you if I fall asleep and start snoring."

He pursed his lips at her, a moue of disapproval. "Come on, Danni," he said, "at least pretend to be a little cultured."

Oh, _that's_ rich, she wanted to say, coming from the guy who once called Pollock _fingerpainting_ , but she kept her mouth shut. It wasn't really worth the effort to have that argument again. Especially as she'd barely stepped into an art gallery - or picked up a pencil - since graduating with honors from art school three years ago and promptly starting work at her uncle's bank.

Anyway. Mark wasn't exactly a fair target for all of that. He only deserved some of her ire, she allowed, as the wind snuck in along her collar and made her shiver. She couldn't blame him for all her discontent, though it felt easier to do that.

She shook her head. "What is this anyway, a student performance?"

Mark opened the door to the recital hall on the east edge of the campus for her. "No, it's a facility they use for lots of things. Student stuff, like classes from the University, but also guest appearances by professional artists like this one, and arts programs in the community - it's been a multi-purpose building since it was established in 1975." He sounded like he was reciting from the website for this part, too, but Danneel let him have it.

The performance hall itself was open and pleasant, looking both functional and attractive, and there was a light woody sort of scent in the air; it reminded her of the pervasive scent of paints and canvas in her art school. She imagined this smell of polish and resin was ingrained in the walls of this place as the other smell had been at her college. It gave her an unexpected pang of nostalgia, and she blinked it away, busying herself taking her jacket off and arranging it over the back of her chair.

The hall wasn't full, but it wasn't empty, a fairly healthy scattered number of people filling the room with the light hum of chatter. Danneel and Mark had seats second row from the front, close to where a large gleaming black piano sat on the raised stage. It was sleek and long, the top lifted on a stand, and Danneel squinted to see the writing on the front, but it meant nothing to her, and she abruptly felt uneducated. She scowled. It wasn't her fault classical music had never interested her all that much.

Mark leaned over and pushed a glossy sheet of paper into her hands. "Just try and enjoy it. For me?"

Danneel tried not to let her shoulders rise at the whine that entered his voice. She knew she was being unfair, and she could feel herself turning into her mother every time Mark failed to meet expectations that she hadn't even told him about, but stopping this slide into the middle-aged general discontent that her parents exemplified perfectly felt like holding back a glacier with a fingertip.

And the evening after her anniversary was the most inappropriate time to be getting herself down with these sorts of thoughts - or the most depressingly appropriate. Hell, she wasn't even thirty yet. She looked instead at the program for the recital.

 _Genevieve Cortese_ , it said along the top in scrolling script. _Classical pianist_. There was a small square picture of a pretty dark-haired girl in a red dress and a short biography about how Genevieve was born in Spain then moved to the United States as a young girl, her passion for Spanish classical music, her education at NYU Steinhardt majoring in Piano Studies complemented with Music History  & Theory; her general existence in a world that meant nothing to Danneel. She wondered if Genevieve would feel the same faced with a Danneel fresh from art school, educated and passionate about a thing that someone walking down the street would glide on past, know nor care nothing about.

She supposed it would be like that for anyone well-educated in any particular field, but she couldn't imagine the passion that she used to feel for art being the same as those educated in, say, economic theory.

Mark's hand on her knee startled her a little out of her thoughts as the lights started to dim, and the chatter in the room rose then abruptly fell. A gentleman in a suit but no tie ambled onto the stage and smiled broadly at the audience as he introduced the pianist, though it was all stuff Danneel had just read in the program.

"Ladies and gentleman - we are very happy to present Miss Genevieve Cortese!" he finished.

There was a polite smattering of applause, and the gentleman walked off stage, and Genevieve entered from the right. She stopped in the center of the stage, inclining her head with a shy little smile, then she turned to the piano, carefully sweeping her dress underneath her. It was a vibrant blue, compared to the red dress in her bio picture, but it suited her just as well, the deep color contrasting well against her smooth olive skin tone and fall of gleaming thick black hair.

She rolled her shoulders slightly, then settled her fingers lightly against the piano keys, and started to play.

It wasn't anything Danneel was familiar with, from the music itself nor the information on the piece on the program, but she found herself unexpectedly enthralled. They were close enough to see Genevieve's fingers dance across the keys, the melody a complex and unpredictable thing that darted up and down. Danneel couldn't grasp onto a hook, any sort of clear repeated progression of chords, and she found she liked it, more than the fairly small sample of piano music she'd made an effort to listen to in the past. The notes piled up over each other and toppled down, and the pitch and volume clashed and contrasted, Genevieve's hands an almost violent chaos, juddering up and down and crossing over each other.

There was story and an emotion behind the music - it wasn't easy, but it was beautiful in a way that reminded Danneel of her favorite pieces of art.

She tore her eyes from Genevieve's fingers to her face; Genevieve had her eyes half closed, in a look of dreamy yet intense concentration. Danneel felt a childish open-mouthed sort of awe at the speed and accuracy of her playing when she wasn't even fully looking at what she was doing.

Genevieve's mouth was slightly open, moving almost imperceptibly, and a crease dipped in and out of the smooth skin between her eyebrows, the emotions Danneel could hear in the piece twisting out of the music and over Genevieve's face.

Danneel blinked when the piece ended; it felt like it had been hours and at the same time, not close to long enough.

Mark made a soft noise next to her, and Danneel remembered he was even there, turned to look at him. He looked slightly disapproving, and Danneel frowned at him.

"I dunno," he whispered, "I thought she might be doing, you know, stuff I might know. Maybe...some Mozart or something."

Danneel shook her head wordlessly, and turned back to where Genevieve had stood up and come to the front of the stage again. Her left hand was twisting slightly in the loose skirt of her dress, and when she spoke, she sounded nervous. Danneel couldn't understand how someone that talented could possibly be nervous.

Genevieve stumbled through a greeting, then picked up in confidence slightly as she talked about the piece she'd just played, her love of classical Spanish composers who were rarely played and recorded, how the pieces evoked Spanish life, the notes so cleverly composed to call back to the sound of castanets or the flamenco guitars, the excitement of a parade through the town.

Danneel closed her eyes when Genevieve sat down to play again, the chaotic medley of chords layering themselves and letting her hear, feel and see what Genevieve had said. It stirred a part of her brain that she hadn't used since school looking into art, underneath art, to see what made it up beyond colors and materials. Or here - what made up the piece beneath the notes on a page and the fingers on the keys.

"Thanks, uh, thank you," said Genevieve haltingly as she stood up before her final piece, and the room filled with applause, louder than Danneel might have expected from the fairly modest audience - but her own hands were starting to sting from clapping, so she couldn't exactly be surprised.

"I hope you've enjoyed the pieces I've performed this evening - my latest CD has these and some other favorites of mine, from Spanish composers, so." She smiled, but it looked uncomfortable, as if she wasn't too used to promoting herself like that. Then her smile brightened, and Danneel noticed the dimples that creased in her smooth skin when she smiled widely enough, making her look both cute and mischievous. Danneel grinned back like an automatic response even though Genevieve wasn't looking at her.

"I'm performing here for the next week," Genevieve was saying, "and I'm also around to help out with some classes, and as a guest speaker for some general interest talks. We have two or three talks scheduled this week on an introduction to musical analysis and theory - real beginner stuff, I promise - so if anyone's interested in hearing about that, they're free for students at the school or through the local community outreach programs for people who live in the greater Chicago area, so, come check it out!"

The room applauded again, and Genevieve smiled widely, then settled back down in her piano chair. Her face changed as she looked down at the keys, the smile fading into something content and focused; her eyes slid half shut in what was now becoming a familiar expression, her mouth softly open as she started.

It was a slower, more melodic piece than some of her previous ones, and Danneel watched the elegant dance of Genevieve's fingers on the keys, watched the movements wave back sinuously into her body, the subtle roll of her shoulders, the tiny motions of her spine under the smooth fall of the dress. The music swirled around her, like it wasn't coming from the piano but from Genevieve herself, from her very skin.

Danneel blinked hard when the piece finally ended, the stage going dark and Genevieve walking off with a quick wave to thunderous applause. It took a moment to free herself out of the reverie she'd fallen into watching Genevieve play, and she looked around the room blankly as she took in where she was. She nearly jumped out of her seat when Mark put his hand on her shoulder.

"So," he said, as the applause rose to a crescendo and then started to fade as people gathered their things and started to leave the room. "What did you think?" He pursed his lips. "I know she didn't--"

"That was amazing," cut in Danneel. "I've never seen anyone play the piano like that. Okay, I haven't seen many people play the piano at all, but it was obvious she's insanely talented, and the pieces were just - wow." She knew she was smiling at nothing and looked a little deranged, but she felt - god, almost giddy, like something had burst free inside her.

Mark tilted his head. "Huh. I thought you didn't much like classical music."

Danneel shrugged. "Neither did I."

They were selling Genevieve's CDs in the lobby, so Danneel bought one, framed her fingers for a moment over the photo of Genevieve on the front, her face smiling up at Danneel. It wasn't the wide smile with the dimples, but a smaller, private looking one. There was a smaller picture of her playing the piano on the back, which Danneel rubbed her thumb over contemplatively, remembering Genevieve's face reflecting the music, the unbelievable agile play of her fingers.

Mark went on and on about her on the way home, about how pleased he was he'd decided to get them tickets, about how great she was, but it felt like he was just doing it because he knew Danneel had liked it, and he didn't seem to have gotten it, not like Danneel had. Which was maybe unfair, but, just. Mark said things like, _it would've been nice if she'd played some recognizable pieces_ or _I wonder why it was all the Spanish composers, it didn't sound anything special to me_ , and Danneel wanted to say - you idiot, would you want her to play things she wasn't passionate about? Danneel knew nothing about music but she knew that Genevieve could have played the most well-known beautiful pieces of music in the world tonight, and it would have sounded flat and dull in comparison to what she did play, because these pieces were played with love and passion.

She nodded along instead, most of her attention on remembering the recital - and besides, she had to be grateful to Mark, because he had gotten them the tickets and she had enjoyed it.

He reached for her that night with a smile, but her skin seemed to flinch away from his touch and she rolled to her side, saying she was tired and her head ached a little and she just needed a good night's sleep. His eyes said _but it's our anniversary_ and _but I got you those tickets_ and for a moment she sort of hated him for it, or at least hated that expectation, that he should have her just because of that. She kissed away his pout and remembered when she couldn't keep her hands off him, and instead rolled herself tight in her half of the duvet.

Two hours later, Mark was snoring next to her, and Dannel's body was tired but her mind was spinning away, bright and awake. She slid carefully out of bed, and into the living room, turned on the computer long enough to rip Genevieve's CD to her iPod, then searched in all the drawers in the living room and study as quietly as she could.

All she managed to unearth was a pack of brightly colored markers and a pad of lined notepaper - not ideal, but her fingers itched with the need to create, with whatever she had.

She put in her earbuds and pressed play, closed her eyes for a moment, then uncapped the pens. She worked with the lines on the paper, letting it shape her piece, and decided she liked the effect it had. A driven kind of ordered chaos, like Genevieve's hands on the keys.

Colors marched and tangled across the page, unfolding like the ideas and excitement inside Danneel, and although hearing the recorded piano music from her iPod wasn't exactly the same as sitting in the room with Genevieve playing right in front of her, it still brought back the memories vividly, the swirl of notes sending colors and emotions through her, down her pen, spilling into paper.

The touch on her shoulder, who knows how much time later, had her shrieking, whirling around, one hand brandishing the blue marker and the other yanking out her earbuds.

Mark stepped back, hands up, palms out, eyes wide. "Wow, chill out, Danni," he said. "What are you doing?"

Danneel dropped her earbuds, pressed her hand over her rapidly beating heart. "Jesus," she said, "you scared the crap out of me."

Mark dropped his hands. "It's four AM. What happened to getting a good night's sleep?" There was a snide edge to his voice.

Danneel leveled a look at him. "I couldn't sleep. So I got up to draw. It used to help, in college."

His eyes flitted past her to her piece, a detached vague interest in his eyes. Danneel resisted the urge to snatch the paper away and hide it from him. "Whatcha drawing?"

She carefully recapped the market. "The recital."

He took a step closer. "How can you draw a recital? You mean - Danni. C’mon, stop dicking with me. This is just scribbles."

Danneel closed her eyes and started to count backwards from ten, then thought - fuck it. "It's not just scribbles, Mark, it's my art. Do you get that? Do you know how much of a big deal this is to me? I haven't drawn or painted in three years. I was miserable and I didn't even realize it until I started to draw again, just now. I know it doesn't look like anything to you, I know it's scribbles on a page, but it's really important to me, so respect that! Don't stand there and look at me like the most important thing here is that you didn't get to _fuck_!" She was shouting by the end of it, chest heaving.

"Danni -- Danni, whoa, babe, come on!" said Mark, palms up. "I think you're overreacting - I think you just need to get some sleep, okay? Throw that out. Come back to bed."

"I am so done with you dismissing me," she seethed, and Mark dropped his hands.

"Well, I'm fed up with your moods and your tantrums! One day you're sweet as pie to me, the next you treat me like I have a contagious disease or I screwed your sister or both. I never know when you're going to bite my head off. Last week you were all crazy about what color curtains to get in the guestroom, this week you're up at four AM ranting about art. It's something new every week."

"I'm not - ranting about art," she said helplessly, feeling as though she was stepping back and watching this conversation careen off the tracks into dangerous places. "I'm an artist, and I have some inspiration for the first time in years. I'm trying to be happy about it. You know I'm an artist, you know this is important to me - we met when I was at art school! We used to stay up all night and talk about how I would paint and you'd design houses, and now look at us. We both work in an office."

Mark quirked his mouth in the beginnings of an indulgent smile that just made her angrier. "It's called growing up, babe. Everyone has pipe dreams in college, then we get real."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child, Mark. I know it's my fault I'm not drawing, but don't dismiss it as something we have to forget about to grow up. This is huge, this is exciting, don't take this away from me."

"I'm not taking anything away from you, babe. I just want you to be sensible."

"Sensible? Seriously? Did you even listen to what I've been saying?"

He rolled his eyes. "What you've been saying is that you did one painting and suddenly you're acting like your life has changed. I know you, Danni, it's not going to last."

"If that's what you think you _know_ about me," she said, feeling numb, "then I really think you don't know me at all, and never did."

"Danni, come on."

"Maybe - you know, I think you should leave."

"Leave?"

"Yes, Mark, pack a bag and get out! You know as well as I do this has been rocky for a long time, but I didn't realize - I think we've been in really, really different places." She paused. "Also, you know what, you're being a dick. I don't ask you understand this, but at least respect it and listen when I say something is important to me, don't just tell me I'm not being _sensible_. It's not just about the art. I don't want to be with someone who can't even respect me or listen to me."

Mark's eyes went hard. "Well, I guess you must be right, because I was definitely in a different _place_ to you. I was in a place where we were adults making a proper life. But apparently you still need to grow up, so fine, let me get out of your hair for that. And don't come calling when the art thing falls apart."

"Oh I won't be calling you. Look, just - go. Please."

\--

Danneel opened her eyes the next morning to late morning sunlight pouring brightly across the room, an empty bed, and a blooming fizzy lightness expanding inside her chest.

She walked into the living room and saw the art from last night - it was nothing, it was a piece of notepaper with markers, but it was her art and it was beautiful. There was a discarded sweater on the couch, Mark's, and the living room seemed to say: this is what you swapped. Art for Mark.

The fact that it felt like a good trade told her it was the right choice.

She called in sick to work, even though she should've been there two hours ago - she called through to her supervisor and told her she broke up with her boyfriend last night. She put a break into her voice, only feeling a little bad, and her supervisor, an angel in the form of a stern forty-five-year-old HR manager, softened like butter and told Danneel to take as long as she needed - as long as the paperwork was still going to be all ready for Mr Berger's important client meeting on Friday.

Danneel agreed and reassured as necessary, and hung up, thinking, maybe I should quit my job. Sell this place, buy something smaller. A studio or something. Live off the sale money until I can figure something else out.

It was a stupid thought to be having after one sleepless night of inspiration and one sketch after three years, not to mention on the heels of a breakup she wasn't completely sure was going to stick, but it made her smile to poke at the idea in her mind, anyway.

She walked out of the house into the sunlight. Mark had taken the car - it was really his, like the place was really hers - so she walked three blocks to the bus stop and got the bus downtown to the university campus. She had no idea if she needed to enroll or register or sign up to anything in order to be able to go to the workshops Genevieve had mentioned last night, so she asked at the student services window in the music department.

Maybe it was coincidence, or maybe one of those lines of fate that Danneel believed align in your life every now and again for a moment, but: even with no idea when the talks were scheduled, she was directed to the lecture halls off the main recital hall, with her sign-up sheet ready to hand in, two minutes before Genevieve walked in to start the talk.

The room was pretty full - there were a lot of students from the music school, but also a good selection of people who looked like they might be like Danneel, interested locals in a range of ages.

Danneel almost didn't recognize Genevieve when she came into the room - she was dressed down in jeans and a blue t-shirt, her dark hair swept up in a messy bun at the back of her neck, a couple of tendrils escaping to wisp around her face.

"Hello," she said, and it took a moment for the room full of people to settle and pay attention. "Hi - class, I guess." She giggled and said, "Sorry, I'm a little nervous. I prefer to talk with my hands, usually," she said, and held up her long fingers and wiggled them as if playing the piano. "But I was asked to give a talk on intro to musical theory, for the school and anyone else who's interested. And that's my second passion, after making music in the first place, is talking about it. So I said I would give a talk or two, so - welcome, everybody. This is the first talk of the program this week, giving you a brief introduction to musical theory and analysis. And if this - if you like this, if it interests you, the night school here offers some really great community classes, and there's a great program of instrument lessons too if you wanted to learn to play piano - or anything."

She looked around, and Danneel felt stupidly pleased when Genevieve caught her eye even though she was sure she was doing that to a lot of people in the room. "Okay. I'm going to start off by just talking about what I think it's the most important thing about analyzing and thinking and talking about music is - the fact that every piece of music you hear has got something more than the music itself that you have to take into account."

She shuffled some bits of paper, then shook her head and set them down, pushed her hands through the wispy loose bits of hair, and launched into talking with an expression of bravery like she was jumping into an icy pool.

"When I talk about music, when we start to think about how to analyze it, we need to realize what - exactly - we're listening to. What a lot of people don't really understand - maybe like some of you here who don't have musical training and backgrounds - is that a piece of music isn't just a piece of music. Music only exists by itself when it's notes on a page – though even then there's the composer who wrote it, but I'll get to that. And as soon as you're able to hear it, there's another player you have to think about - the performer. As soon as someone translate notes to an instrument, they are a part of the piece as people hear it - whether that's a piano or a violin or a French horn or anything. A performer brings out the visible music, the notes - but also the invisible music in the score, how they present it. One piece, the same notes on paper, can have very different performances even if both remain faithful to the notes and the score's notations, instructions, the intent of the composer - I'll play you an example."

Genevieve had a laptop set up at the front of the room, and she played two pieces of the same music, but Danneel didn't even need to hear the example to believe Genevieve's point - she'd been convinced of that seeing Genevieve play. The music - the music had been good, but it was classical piano music, in its way like hundreds out there, and it had never appealed to her before. But Genevieve's performance - that had hit her somewhere inside, resonated, burst open channels of art and brightness and that wasn't the notes - that had been Genevieve, she was sure of it. Something about this woman's interpretation of the music turned it into something amazing to Danneel.

It called back to art, her theory classes - how analysis wasn't confined to the piece. You could not do a good in-depth analysis of a piece of art without strong consideration of the artist and the viewer. Art did not and could not exist in a bubble. It wasn't exactly comparable to music, as in that case you had three human elements to consider in analysis, that of composer, performer, and consumer - but it was not a new idea.

Danneel wondered how her part as consumer differed from others, what her own analysis of Genevieve's piece would be if she had the vocab and skill to analyze it as she had once done with art. What she might discover about her psyche by digging into her reactions.

Genevieve turned off the piece, and the people in the room exchanged looks, nods, little murmurs of how they hadn't realized how different two performances of a piece could be - not just in their sound, but their feel. Genevieve looked pleased.

"Thinking about this is important, not just for listening to and understanding a piece of music, but for performing it. Once you understand that you are half of the performance, you can think about how you are affecting it - how you interpret the notes and how you can be faithful to the composer but also make a piece of music your own."

Genevieve relaxed as she talked, her voice speeding up and softening the nervous edges, and Danneel didn't understand everything but loved hearing it anyway, watching how Genevieve's hands moved through the air in elegant gestures, the way her eyes were bright as she talked through something she clearly loved and knew well, the way the soft dimples in her cheeks popped in and out.

Danneel raised her hand at one point when Genevieve invited comments, and, unaccountably nervous, said, "And, um, I would guess - when you're analyzing a piece of music - like with a piece of art - then the person doing the listening and analysis - yourself, you've got to take your own potential bias into account, right? Personal taste and knowledge and stuff."

Genevieve smiled wide. "Yes, exactly! Even if you try to do the most technical analysis possible, you can't avoid your own biases coming into play. Some people, especially those who make a real academic career out of it, like to divorce music from other art, make a science or an objective technical study out of it. And it's true a lot of music can be very technically and scientifically approached, and that's a really huge and valuable part of musical knowledge, but to me, it's art, at the heart. So like all art, personal taste and emotion cannot help be a part of how you approach it, as performer or as like you said, an audience. I had a big falling out with an ex during college about that actually - I argued that emotional or personal bias informed any analysis, even technical, that music could not be seen completely objectively - and she took that as an insult."

There was an awkward ripple around the room as Genevieve's use of _she_ , and although Danneel was surprised, she was more bothered by the small wince Genevieve gave like she hadn't intended to say that and the way her face tightened back up, eyes dropping down as murmuring rose around the edges of the room.

Danneel stuck her hand up again and waved it to draw Genevieve's eyes. "So, you know, could you give us an example of something you've played where your personal bias and emotions have affected how you interpret your performance?"

Genevieve smiled at her gratefully and Danneel tried to not blush. "Yes - there's one Bach piano concerto--"

She relaxed more as she talked, and Danneel felt herself relaxing, inwardly hating the rest of the room for acting like that was something that they could giggle and whisper about.

Except she also couldn't quite leave it alone in her own head, either. Genevieve didn't look like a lesbian - which she knew was a stupid thing to think, because who you liked to have sex with didn’t have anything to do with what you looked like or how you dressed, she knew that really, but she must have internalized some of that expectation that lesbians should look somehow butch or different. She found herself watching the movement of Genevieve's mouth as she talked, or the gesturing of her slim fingers, and thinking that she'd touched and kissed other women with those; she jolted from her contemplation when Genevieve had stopped talking and Danneel realized she could feel her cheeks thrum hot. Genevieve must think she was insane, sitting there listening to talk about movements and chords and thematic statements, blushing hotly like it was porn.

She rubbed her hands over her cheeks and tried to tune back in, though it seemed like Genevieve was wrapping up the talk.

"I hope it hasn’t been too dry and boring for you," she said, with a self-deprecating grin, "but if you're interested in more, my next talk is on Wednesday, same time. I'll have a few more examples for you, to show how we can talk about different ways composers can put pieces together and how we interpret their instructions."

Danneel started clapping, then faltered for a second when she we realized she was the only one, then thankfully the rest of the room caught up. Genevieve stayed at the front desk, collecting her papers together and closing her laptop, and Danneel gave her an awkward half-wave thing as she passed. "Thanks," she said, "for the talk, and for the performance last night."

Genevieve smiled and said, "Thanks," but then the flow of people out of the room carried Danneel away before either could say anything more. Still. It was exciting to have swapped words with her; Danneel had never been a starstruck fan of someone before, even when her classmates at school had NKOTB posters and watched their videos religiously; but she was starting to get it, that excitable admiration and awe that churned in your belly. Just a few years past the age most people grew out of it.

She went back to the bus stop, but not before going by the art supply store on campus.

Back at home, she set up a three-by-three white stretched canvas and new oil paints, and painted her first real painting in three years, and it came easy - without the feverish sudden intensity of last night, but like she'd been painting daily for years, her shoulders moving loose and easy and the paint rolling onto the canvas so swift and smooth it felt like it was guiding her hand instead of the other way around.

She painted the talk. It started off monochrome, black and white tones, then with sudden slashes of color, but regimented, as Danneel thought about the things Genevieve had been discussing: the analysis of music, separating out the three parts of composer, performer and audience, how they all interact. She used three colors intertwining over the black and white base, then her thoughts wandered, and when she reached the other edge of the canvas, the colors had merged. Red and a glossy black had surged to the forefront, and a more sensual swirl with luscious curves and dips had emerged.

Danneel put down her paintbrush and studied the painting. She'd often painted out her feelings in college, sometimes not knowing what was niggling at her subconscious until it had shown itself in a mess of colors and shapes that her conscious mind could grab onto.

"Interesting," she said aloud, feeling unsettled, but good.

\--

She'd run out of her supervisor's goodwill and had to go in to work the next day, and it was - fine, but surreal. She did her job, paperwork and calls and emails and memos and office chatter, but she felt detached from everything, like this was an old life, a facade she was walking through.

She got sympathy and poorly concealed thirst for gossip from her coworkers at the water cooler, and she smiled and nodded and assured everyone she was fine. She watched with hidden amusement as their faces smoothed over in disappointment when she said no, there had been no cheating, no scandal, no physical fights, nothing that counted as interesting in their eyes; and they drifted off, denied sharks in shallow water looking for fresher prey. She shook her head.

As if what had actually happened, uninteresting on the surface, wasn't the most interesting and important thing that had happened to her in years.

\--

Genevieve's next talk was the Wednesday afternoon, and she intended to miss it - she had work, she had a life that she had to keep up - but she found herself taking the afternoon off for a made-up doctor's appointment and getting the bus two blocks down from the office towards campus.

At least, that was the intent; construction work nearby spread out traffic delays through the city like a bruise, and Danneel sat on the unmoving bus in snaking traffic, winding herself up into frustration.

She made it onto campus five minutes before the talk was scheduled to end, useless to even try and catch the last bit of it.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath, and headed into the cafeteria instead. She needed a coffee - and something to eat as she hadn't had lunch yet, which probably wasn't helping her mood. It was more than a little ridiculous to get so upset and angry at missing someone she didn't know give a speech about something she never used to have an interest in.

She got a coffee and a sandwich and made her way to an empty table by the corner window, and as she stepped towards it, collided heavily with someone heading for the same seat.

"Oh!" The coffee wobbled dangerously and Danneel turned to apologize to the person she'd crashed into, but her breath stuck in her throat when she saw it was Genevieve. She could see clearly for a horrible moment that her already precarious grip on the coffee would slip, tip, spill all over Genevieve's fitted white blouse--

Genevieve reached out and steadied Danneel's wrist and therefore her coffee. Her hand was slim, long fingered, smooth on Danneel's skin.

"Whoa," said Genevieve, "careful," but she was smiling.

"Sorry," said Danneel immediately. "Wasn't looking where I was going."

"Eyes on the prize?" said Genevieve. At Danneel's blank look, she clarified, pointing towards the corner seat. "Best seat in the house, where you can see the lake past the edge of campus."

"Oh!" said Danneel. "Can you? I was just heading to a free seat. You can take it."

"Thanks," said Genevieve. "It's a big table, though, you can sit here too."

"Really?" said Danneel, wishing she could take it back when it came out breathy and eager, like the nerd being asked to sit with the popular kids. Jeez.

"Sure," said Genevieve, looking amused, and waved Danneel to sit across the table from her.

Danneel sat, set down her coffee and sandwich, put her bag in the seat next to her, and told herself not to fidget.

"Hi," she blurted out, then hid her face in taking a gulp of coffee.

Genevieve tilted her head slightly to study Danneel; her hair tumbled across her shoulder, the sunlight slanting in through the cafeteria window picking out gold sparks in the dark gleam. "I think I recognize you," she said.

"I'm, uh. I was at the talk on Tuesday?"

"Oh, yes! That's where I know your face. Did you like it? I thought it must have been terribly boring," she admitted, "but my friend told me it was okay."

"It was amazing," said Danneel immediately. "I mean - I didn't understand it all, I don't know anything about music, but I understood enough to get what you were talking about."

"If I remember right, you seemed to ask some sensible questions."

Danneel dropped her head and tried not to go red. "I, well, I'm an artist, I studied art, so a lot of those principles are - transferable, I guess."

"Oh, really? Do you paint, draw, sculpt? I'm so in awe of people who can create things with their hands."

"You can create things with your hands! It might not be tangible, but it's as amazing as sculpting or drawing or whatever. I paint - draw, some, but I like to paint most of all."

Genevieve laughed, her dimples creasing in her face. "I hadn't really thought of it like that! I guess so. Painting, that's awesome. Is that your job? Do you study here, or teach?"

"Oh," said Danneel awkwardly, "no, I. I don't paint very much any more, I work in an office. I don't work here."

Genevieve looked at her. "So why are you here?" Then she shook her head and laughed. "Wow, I didn't mean for that to come out so accusatory."

Danneel shook her head. "No, it's fine! I, um." She rubbed a hand over the back of her neck. "I - my boyf - er, my ex. He brought me to see your show on Sunday--"

Genevieve winced. "That's recent. I hope the music wasn't that bad!"

Danneel shook her head, and refrained from saying _actually, it was too good, and sparked both my inspiration and some long-overdue words between us_. "God, no, nothing to do with you," she said instead. "Just unfortunate timing. But if it helps, I'm much happier."

Genevieve smiled softly at her. "It does help. So--?"

"So, I heard you mention the talks you were giving, and I came to check them out. I came in _here_ specifically because I got caught up on the bus and missed the talk I'm guessing you just came from."

"Oh no! I thought there was someone missing," she said, and grinned. "I can recap it privately for you if you'd like?"

Danneel blinked. Was Genevieve teasing her, or - god, flirting? Was this flirting? Was Danneel reading way too much into Genevieve's flash of bright smile and the glimpse of white teeth pressed into her lip? She tore a corner off her sandwich and drank some more coffee and nearly inhaled it down the wrong hole. She coughed. "No - god - sorry - no, it's okay. I mean, it's cool."

"There's another one on Friday, maybe you can make that one?"

"Definitely," she said. And then, because she'd wanted to do this since the first night after the show, she said, "Can I also say thank you?"

Genevieve smiled, though she looked a little confused. "Sure. Uh, why?"

"Maybe this is super awkward, but, the first night I heard you play, it was so beautiful, and I know that sounds cheesy but it really was, and it helped unlock something inside me, and so I've been painting again, for the first time in ages. Years. And that pretty much feels like the most amazing thing ever, so, thank you."

Genevieve's eyes were bright. "Really? That's amazing! God, that just - that feels incredible. Don't thank me too much - it's all from inside you, you should thank yourself - but if I could do anything to help, I know there's nothing like it when you find your way past a mental block that stops your art, somehow. What are you painting? Can I - wow, sorry, that's rude."

"Can you see it?" Danneel grinned, feeling weird and giddy. "I haven't wanted to show anyone my art in a long time, even when I was last painting, but, uh." The thought of Genevieve seeing her art - the woman that had somehow trailed music into Danneel's head and unlocked those doors - it was simultaneously terrifying and thrilling. "I dunno. I'd like you to, but it's scary."

"Do you have any with you?"

Danneel looked at her bag without exactly meaning to - she had a sketch pad in there with some pencil and marker pieces that she'd been doing in her free time the past few days. It wasn't stuff like her painting from the talk, it was more practicing the basics, getting used to drawing and how it felt in different media, so there were quite a few realistic sketches of objects. Or at least as realistic as she ever got - she could draw shapes and images accurately but she couldn't bring herself to color them the way they appeared, so there were lots of black and white pencil drawings, and the ones that were colored were vibrant with blocks of bright marker colors. She had a cobalt and fuchsia and viridian landscape of her office building, an apple tree in six different shades of red and pink, a cat that was half green and unfinished.

Still, it seemed less intimidating to show Genevieve some of her practice art rather than her 'real' art, so she let Genevieve's eyes follow her gaze to the sketchbook sticking up slightly as the bag slouched on the chair.

Genevieve grinned. "May I?"

"Sure," said Danneel, then hurriedly added, "I'm kinda weird about color, by the way. I do a lot of abstract stuff, too, and I just. It's not exactly still life and portraits."

"I'm intrigued!" said Genevieve, and reached her elegant hand over the table and pulled out Danneel's sketchbook, and it felt like she was letting her read through a private diary. Goosebumps prickled on her neck and she couldn't help but hold her breath as Genevieve opened the book.

Watching her face was torture, so Danneel rolled her eyes at herself and ate her sandwich as Genevieve flicked through, though she did look over when Genevieve chuckled.

"The cat," she explained. "I love it."

Danneel shrugged and swallowed her food. "Color," she said, and waved a hand around, like that explained anything at all.

Genevieve closed the book and gave it back. "There's some really amazing stuff in there. The pencil stuff is really pretty, but I love the colored ones best. It's like - you use the most outlandish unrealistic color, and it somehow looks perfectly right." She grinned. "It makes me want to see the world the way you do."

"Kinda crazy?" Danneel joked. "I - thanks. It's weird, showing people, especially you, but. I'm glad you like it." She tucked the book back into her bag, feeling both awkward and incredibly pleased with the compliments, her cheeks warm with it. "I, uh. I would like to see how you see the world too, though. From the way you play, it seems so - beautiful and passionate, like you can't help but make things like that." She blushed harder - who went around telling people they saw the world _passionately_.

Genevieve sat back in her chair, looking thoughtful. "I guess - it's hard to think about how I see the world because, you know, it's how I see it, I can't imagine any different! But - yeah. I think there's beauty in everything, everywhere; you just need to figure out how to find it."

"That's a very optimistic way of seeing things, I'm impressed."

Genevieve laughed. "Don't get me wrong, I know there's a lot of shitty stuff in this world and this life, and not to be all poor little rich girl about it, because I know I've had luck in some ways, but it's not always been easy for me, I've gone through some shit. Haven't we all, of course. But I learned you have to find the beauty hiding in the corners of this life even at its worst and let it give you strength, use it as a shield to push away the bad and protect the good."

Danneel grinned. "I don't know if that's inspiring and beautiful, or kinda cheesy."

Genevieve laughed, her head going back. It was infectious, and Danneel bit back her own laughter. "Yeah, yeah, fine, I'm moonlighting for Hallmark. Shhh, it's a secret." She winked at Danneel. "Come on, you're an artist - be all over-the-top romantic with me and say it's inspiring and beautiful."

Danneel laughed, this time. "Fine. It was beautiful. Totally inspired - check. Finding beauty in the corners - check."

Genevieve rolled her eyes and smirked. "Don't make fun."

Danneel sobered. "I'm not."

"I know." Genevieve smiled. "Anyway, _you_ don't need to find the beauty. You can just draw it, and create your own."

Danneel didn't know how to respond to that, so drank her coffee instead, feeling weird - in a good way - having all of Genevieve's attention on her. There was an intensity, a bright, creative, passionate energy about Genevieve that felt scary but amazing to have all directed at you, and she wanted to paint, paint, paint.

Genevieve looked at her thoughtfully for a while, until Danneel smiled and said, "What?"

Genevieve bit her lip. "This might sound weird, but - I get a good feeling from you. Can I propose something I think could help the both of us out?"

"Um," said Danneel, confused but intrigued. "Sure?"

"Say no if you don't feel comfortable with it, but. So, my agent and I have been talking about the cover art for my next album. Which makes me sound far more important than I am! But she wants to do another photograph of me playing the piano, and I - I want to do something different. So no obligation, but if you want to and I want to, you'll get paid for it, whether we use it or not - what do you think about a portrait?"

 _That sounds amazing, but really, I honestly don't do portraits; I do abstract art_ Danneel meant to say. Instead, she blurted out, "Oh my god, sure," and couldn't regret it from the way Genevieve's face split into a stunning grin.

"Oh wow, really?"

"I, yeah, but if you hate it, you don't have to use it, I'm not very - traditional," Danneel managed to get out.

Genevieve smiled brightly. "Neither am I. You know I like it. In fact, I'm expecting you to color me blue."

Danneel grinned. "I - okay. When were you thinking?"

"Sunday? Does that work for you? My parents are visiting on Saturday, and my stepmom is going to want to see the city so I'll be out with her, but Sunday I'm free in the afternoon."

"Sunday works for me," said Danneel, not quite believing what they were organizing. "Text me the address and I'll come over with my supplies."

"Great!" said Genevieve.

Danneel nodded dopily. "Geat!"

They looked at each other, then Genevieve laughed. "Sorry. That was weird. I swear I don't usually ask people I've just met to do portraits of me. At least. Not that often. I've cut down to once a month."

Danneel frowned. "And here was me thinking I was special."

Somewhere in the back of Danneel's mind she wondered if Genevieve was flirting as they talked - and if she were flirting back; and if she was intending to, if she was. It was so easy to talk to Genevieve that she couldn't seem to stop, the banter and jokes and conversation, and she went with it, because it felt good.

They talked for a long while, until the sun started to sink outside the cafeteria, lining Genevieve's hair with gold as it edged into sunset. Eventually Genevieve looked at her watch, and swore.

"Oh shit, how did it get to be so late? I have things to do tonight. Shit."

"Sorry," said Danneel awkwardly, looking around the cafeteria and realizing how quiet it had gotten. She gathered her bag up.

Genevieve looked up in surprise. "No, don't be! I would rather have been talking to you here than doing errands. It was really great to meet you."

Danneel grinned. "You too. Really. Thank you again."

Genevieve pointed at her. "Don't thank me. It was all you. I will see you on Sunday and you can show me what you can do."

"Okay. I can't promise anything, but okay."

She wiggled her fingers in a lame little wave, and Genevieve stepped aroudnt he tabl and surprised Danneel with a quick tight hug.

She'd seen girls hug each other like this before, a quick squeeze as a greeting or goodbye, easy affection, but it wasn't something she was used to. She rarely touched people extensively outside of her boyfriend - she and her friends almost never hugged, and her mom, while being great, had never showered Danneel with physical affection since Danneel had stopped being a kid.

That was probably why it felt so intense and strange to have Genevieve so close. Why the feel of her pressed close - the warmth of her body, the tickle of her hair on Danneel's cheek, the press of her fingers into Danneel's shoulderblade - felt so good and shockingly new.

Danneel's breath caught in her chest, and she stood dumbly; Genevieve was stepping back before Danneel could think to bring her own arms up to return the hug.

Genevieve didn't seem fazed by Danneel's plank-of-wood act - she waved with a smile, said "Bye!" and was gone in a swirl of dark hair.

The buses went less frequently now they'd hit evening, so Danneel had to wait at her bus stop for about twenty minutes before her bus came, but she barely noticed it, replaying the afternoon in her head. She and Genevieve had really connected, and she was certain that wasn't just her seeing that where it wasn't because she was a fan. They'd talked for hours, going from school to growing up to football to movies, and it had felt so easy, and Danneel felt like she was floating a couple feet above the ground.

It kinda felt like a really good first date, when you're left with an itch to see the person again, find out more; Danneel laughed at herself, at the thought, then pushed it away. She hadn't had that many really close female friends in college, or as an adult; maybe this was just what it was like.

\--

Danneel's cell phone rang shrilly when she was on the bus on the way to Genevieve's practice hall, her bag of art supplies and two canvases resting awkwardly between her knees and the back of the seat in front of her.

It took her a frustrating long few seconds to dig the phone out from her pocket, and she didn't have time to check caller ID before she flipped it open. "Hello?" she said breathlessly, hoping Genevieve wasn't calling to cancel.

"Hey, babe," said a voice that was for a moment unfamiliar, then very much not. Danneel felt her hackles rise like a physical thing.

"Mark," she said, "why are you calling me?"

"Steve's fed up of me in his guest bed, babe, it's been nearly a week. Can I move back in yet?"

For a moment Danneel was literally speechless. "I - what?"

"I know you needed some time to cool off, and I'm sorry, I'll totally support your art. Let's fix this, okay?"

"I thought we made it pretty clear you were moving out. And if not, the fact we haven't spoken once in the week since kind of cemented that."

"I--"

"I mean actually moving out, for real, the end."

"I know you said that then. But that was in the middle of an argument, you never mean things when you say them like that."

"That's your impression, Mark! I said it and I meant it, and surely even you could see we'd been together out of expectation and habit more than anything else recently? Tell me you've missed _me_ this past week, and not having somewhere nice to live."

There was a telling pause. "Danni--" he said plaintive through the phone.

She sighed. "I don't have a car, and it's a pain in my ass, but I'm taking the bus. You don't have a house, and it's a pain in the ass, but you've got savings - get your own place. Move on. We're both of us going to be happier in the long run. I don't want you to move back in, and I don't think you really want to either."

"You've met someone else, haven't you," he said, voice ugly, which mean he knew Danneel was right and didn't want to admit it.

"No," she said calmly, though she went hot in the face like she was lying, which was stupid. "Mark, I've gotta go. I'll see you around, maybe, but have a good life, okay?"

She hung up before he could say anything further, and realized with a lurch in her chest that she was twenty seconds away from the stop she needed; she hit the button and scrambled her way down the bus, canvases big and awkward, the bag of supplies crashing against her hip, easel banging into her back and shoulder.

She was breathless and frazzled by the time she made it off the bus, and of course that was when Genevieve turned the corner half a block down to meet her, right on time.

Danneel bit back her irritation - god, her hair was probably everywhere and she'd wanted to put on some fresh lipstick - and smiled in greeting instead as Genevieve came over. "Hey," she said, and put the canvases down on the sidewalk a moment to gather herself. "Sorry," she said, gesturing to all her stuff.

"You should have said you'd be carrying all this, I didn't realize you'd be getting the bus! I could've ordered a cab or something?"

Danneel shrugged, trying to subtly smooth her hair back. "No, it's fine; the ex took the car, so. I figure the bus is a small price to pay."

Her phone rang again then, shrill and demanding in her pocket. Danneel pulled it out, said, "Oh, speak of the fucking annoying piece of shit _devil_ ," and hung up.

Genevieve winced. "He's not as happy with the split? Sorry, god, I don't meant to pry--"

Danneel shrugged. "No, it's fine." She took the bag, and started to awkwardly grab the canvases; Genevieve made a dismissive noise and took the bag from her so Danneel could have both hands free for the canvases. "Thanks. No, I think he liked how easy it was, you know? Plus, I still have the house."

Genevieve laughed. "Ah, of course. He wants his laundry and food service back as much or more than he wants you back, you think?"

"Mm-hm. Whereas I would love nothing more than to never have to wash his socks ever again," said Danneel fervently, and Genevieve laughed, dropping her head back, hair tumbling and dimples digging in deep.

Genevieve's practice hall was in town rather than in the campus, a bright loft space she rented for practice and space to play and sometimes compose when she was in town. "I don't compose very much," she said awkwardly, "but it's something I love to do. I'm trying to get together the courage to do an album of my own pieces, not just performances of others, but I make my living doing recitals of others' work so of course at the moment that's what sells."

"I told you that you were creative with your hands," said Danneel. "That's amazing."

Genevieve shrugged. "Amazing might be an overstatement, but I like doing it."

She put the bag of supplies down in the middle of the room and looked around. "Okay," she said. "Where do you want me?"

Danneel wondered if she imagined the sly glance Genevieve threw her after saying that, and swallowed. "Um," she said, and blinked, then looked around properly. It was a good space, with good light. "This place is great. The lighting and everything - it looks more like an artist's studio than a musician's." The windows were big and clean, the ceilings high in the center and sloping down; the walls were plain painted off-white with pale wood beams as features, and the grand piano was a feature of the east-facing corner of the room.

Genevieve shrugged. "I've never liked hunching over a piano in a dark little room. The openness helps the music, too. Good acoustics."

She went to sit at the piano and lightly posed her fingers over the keys. "Something like this?

Danneel unslung her easel from her back and pulled up one of the chairs dotted around, set up in the opposite corner of the room. "No," she said, "I don't need you to pose or anything." She looked at Genevieve thoughtfully. "Can you just play?"

"What do you want me to play?"

Danneel lay down a sheet on the floor and started setting up her paints. She picked up her brush and flexed her fingers around it. She thought about it - the pieces Genevieve had played the first night Danneel had seen her seemed appropriate, as that had sparked her art so strongly, but this was a portrait, and the music would feed into it, and it was supposed to be of Genevieve, not of anyone else. "Maybe one of your own pieces? Something that has a feel that you think is very - you."

Genevieve nodded, and looked down at the piano for a moment, face falling calm and thoughtful. Then she trailed her fingers along the piano keys, a caress, and then started to play, her face changing into something both intensely focused and immensely calm.

She was wearing a black top with an elegant scoop neck and cap sleeves, and a flared dark red skirt; her hair fell glossy and dark, tucked behind her ear on the side nearest to Danneel, the other side falling down straight. She had a delicate silver necklace against the smooth skin of her throat. Thin tendons moved under the thin skin of her wrist as she played, and her long fingers danced over the keys, her leg moving softly on the pedal, her shoulders rising and falling with her breath, with the music.

For a moment, Danneel wished, more strongly than she could remember, that she could truly paint people, capture them alive and lifelike and familiar, because the image of Genevieve here was breathtaking. But Danneel never could - she could mimic things well enough, she _was_ an artist, but it never had heart. Her talent lay in paintings that you felt things in, not that you recognized things in, and the urge to copy Genevieve as she was faded once Danneel closed her eyes and listened.

The music was playful and light, little tumbling piles of chords building up over and over, toppling down in waterfalls of bright sound, and a winding melody picked out from amongst them as Genevieve played. It layered deeper, something somber and beautiful emerging underneath it, and Danneel didn't register her paintbrush moving until she opened her eyes and she saw colors starting to swirl over her canvas.

She painted feverishly, faster as the energy of the music picked up, then calming when it lulled; she looked between the canvas and Genevieve, and sometimes closing her eyes. Her brain was bright and buzzing with electric energy, inspiration thrilling through as she took the beauty of the music, of the room, of Genevieve, and made it her own, into the bursting colors and shapes of her art.

She was done, suddenly; Genevieve was still playing, but Danneel was done, she didn't want to add another drop of paint because it was all there, it couldn't be any more true to what she was doing. She rinsed her brushes carefully as Genevieve kept playing, and sat and looked at her painting as Genevieve carried the music through to the end.

The room rang with silence as the last note faded, and Genevieve blinked, looked over at Danneel nervously.

Danneel couldn't think for a moment why Genevieve was nervous - Danneel was the one sitting here with her heart trying to flutter out of her chest - when she remembered: Genevieve wrote that. Genevieve was showing her art in the same way Danneel was. "That was incredible," she said. "I don't know anything about music but even I know that was - amazing. I don't care who you have to shout at to get your own album made, it has to be."

Genevieve ducked her head and smiled. "Thanks," she said. "You know, hardly anyone's ever heard that. It's so weird to play it."

"They're missing out."

"Have you - are you finished?"

Genevieve was standing up, and Danneel's nervousness thudded back in threefold. "I - yeah, I'm done. I'm not - you should know, I don't really do, you know, normal portraits."

But Genevieve wasn't paying attention to her, she was walking around to stand behind Danneel and look at the art. All of a sudden it just seemed like a mess of paint, a child's finger-smeared play; Danneel wished she'd tried real-life mimicry after all.

"That's me?" Genevieve sounded incredulous.

Danneel's stomach sank to her toes. "It is."

"It's _beautiful_."

Danneel's stomach rose and filled with light, and the art stopped being a childish mess and resolved back into the wonder of Genevieve and her music. "Really - you like it?"

"This is incredible. God." Her arm came out from over Danneel's shoulder, and Danneel was abruptly aware of the heat and presence of Genevieve behind her. "That's - I can see the music, it's right there, it's all along here - and down here--" She traced the fluttering notes of yellow and white Danneel had painted down into the low darker blue beat. "And that's - this is me, here, isn't it." Genevieve was pointing to the richer swirl on the left and side, the one that was themed similarly to the painting Danneel had done before of the talk; of Genevieve. Thick sheen of black, rich sensuous curves of red, bright sparks of white and gold. It made Danneel feel incredibly self-conscious seeing it there, so sensual and intimate, when she barely knew Genevieve, really, but she couldn't help how she painted her. How she--

"So beautiful. That's what you see? When you look at me?"

Genevieve had leaned in and down, and Danneel could hear her whisper from just behind Danneel's head, her breath a light touch on Danneel's neck. Danneel closed her eyes, her heart pounding, her little fingers tingling, a giddy unbelievable inevitability building in her.

"Yes," she whispered.

She opened her eyes and turned her head. Genevieve's face was right there, and her skin was clear and bright, her mouth was full and red and soft, her eyes were dark and fixed on Danneel's with an intensity that made Danneel's face go hot.

She opened her mouth, meaning to say something, she was sure, or maybe she just opened it for the kiss which came; Genevieve's lips pressed against hers, warm and real and so soft, softer than she could have imagined. When Danneel moved her mouth into the kiss, her lips slid against Genevieve's like silk, making her body flush and goosebumps rise in a nearly painful rush down her spine and along her arms.

She breathed in through her nose, a needy gasp of air, and her hand came up thoughtlessly to grasp at the side of Genevieve's face. Genevieve shifted, and Danneel gripped harder to keep her there; but she was just moving to kneel down at the side of the chair, and her own hand came up to rest on the side of Danneel's neck.

Danneel caught Genevieve's incredible lower lip between her own, and sucked on it lightly, head spinning at how soft it was, how good this was; her body was moving on autopilot, angling towards Genevieve, and when Genevieve pressed her thumb gently to Danneel's jaw and slid her tongue along Danneel's bottom lip and inside her mouth, Danneel's whole body seized up in the surge of want. She made a small noise in the back of her throat, and Genevieve kissed her harder, her lips giving against the pressure. Danneel's brain clicked back online and, god, she felt like she was going to explode, this was--

She broke away from the kiss, air feeling cool on her spit-slicked and kiss-swollen mouth. She let go of Genevieve's face and pulled herself from Genevieve's grip, standing up on rubbery legs, staring down at Genevieve.

"I--" she said. "Oh god."

"Danneel, what's wrong?" Genevieve stood up, and god, her mouth was so red, swollen and red like Danneel's, _from_ Danneel's.

"I didn't - I mean, I." She couldn't spit it out, because she didn't know how to say it. She hadn't expected it? Wasn't that a lie? She'd known it was going to happen just before it did, but she-- she shook her head.

"Are you straight?" Genevieve sounded shocked, which was fair enough, considering the making out and the, god, the flirting she was pretty sure she'd been responding to, but she was - had been, she didn't know. Her whole body wouldn't shut up, heart pounding, mouth tingling, palms sweaty and this urgent liquid heat in her belly telling her she wanted Genevieve back close to her, touching her, kissing her again.

"I don't really know," she admitted, finally getting out a whole sentence, voice small.

Genevieve approached her carefully like she was a spooked animal, which felt accurate. "I - are you okay? Was that okay? I thought you - wanted it."

"No, it's - it's not your fault. I'm just really confused right now. I need - some time." She wanted to lean in towards Genevieve, let her touch her again, like it would all feel better if she could; but she also wanted to get out of there, let herself calm the hell down and figure this out. She'd never felt like this about another woman before. Another _person_ , before, not this much, said a small voice in her head, but she shook it away.

"Danneel, I think we should talk this out - I don't want you to just go."

"Please, just let me," said Danneel desperately, sure she couldn't withstand Genevieve asking again. Maybe, maybe this was just some twisted hero-worship thing. Some bastardization of how grateful she was to Genevieve for unlocking her art.

"Okay," said Genevieve. "Okay. Let's get your things--"

"No, keep, keep the art, and I'll get my paint and stuff later. I just need some air - I gotta," she said, backing towards the door, like a damn coward.

The bus journey home passed in a daze, and she could have stayed in that daze, not thinking, not letting herself think, until she'd found the strength to push it down and away and maybe never think of it again - if she hadn't walked home and seen, propped up in the middle of the living room, the painting from earlier in the week - god, it felt like forever ago - she'd done after Genevieve's talk.

It was so obvious now it was almost embarrassing, her attraction to Genevieve painted in deep colors over canvas, unaware and explicit. She closed her eyes involuntarily, the sensation of Genevieve's mouth on her own flooding back and making her body surge and heat again, and she sat down on the floor, hands gripping at the carpet as though Genevieve were here and she could grip her instead, pull her in close, let the warm reality of her body press flush against Danneel's, feel her softness and heat--

Danneel opened her eyes again and stared at the painting. "You idiot, fuck, you goddamn idiot," she whispered. She wanted to think it was any other reason - that it was because she'd just broken up with Mark, that her body was confusing one feeling for another, that it was just simple curiosity because she knew Genevieve was gay, that she was flattered because she thought Genevieve had been flirting with her - but her fascination with Genevieve had started that first evening. And it had been about the music, it had, but it hadn't only been about the music - if it had been someone else, someone without those dark eyes and luscious red mouth and sweet little dimples and her way of playing - it might have come to nothing. It might have just been another boring recital. It had all fed in together, and Danneel couldn't separate it out, and she, she was completely and violently attracted to Genevieve.

She'd never thought of herself as anything but straight. If she'd been asked, she would have said it made sense to her that sexuality could be fluid, that there was nothing wrong with this; that it could be just Genevieve, or it could be just a few women, or it could be many women from now on - all sensible stuff that she could have sagely advised a friend.

When it was herself, no matter how liberal and open minded she'd thought herself, it was _scary_.

She had a shower and ate dinner and tried to clear her head, and put on Genevieve's album of the Spanish music. She looked at the sleeve, at the pictures of Genevieve, and could picture her smiling, playing piano, laughing, teasing, thinking; she felt like she knew this woman so much and yet she'd hardly spent that much time with her. Hadn't even known her one week ago.

There wasn't anything scary about Genevieve; when she thought about her, Danneel smiled. When she thought about more - about doing more, about kissing her and god, touching her - even that wasn't really scary, not unless it was scary because of how exciting it was. But she thought about telling her mom and dad, about Mark finding out, about telling people at work, and she hated herself for how it made her quail. It wasn't her - it wasn't her life.

She looked around her house that she'd shared with Mark; thought about him, about her Blackberry with work emails, her small group of mostly work friends and Mark's friends, and how the only thing that made her happy in this house was that painting, and wondered carefully if she even wanted her life to still be her life.

Genevieve texted her that night, saying that she knew Danneel needed time but that she wanted to see her again when Danneel was ready, and that she could pick up her art stuff from the campus office Monday. Danneel didn't reply; she turned the picture to face the wall and went to bed, deciding to try out her normal life again. She had a steady job, her own house, and her health, and she knew people across the country right now would kill for her life. Passion and dreams and art were luxuries.

She went into work on Monday morning early, and greeted everyone happily. She worked hard in the morning, cleared her inbox, and felt content. Over lunch, she sat on her own in the break room, and in the same sort of unaware daze that she'd started painting Genevieve's portrait in, wrote her resignation letter and walked over to give it to her supervisor.

When she got home, still waiting for her brain to tell her why she'd done that, she called up two local realtors to come value her house to put it on the market, and when she was done, she had another text from Genevieve. _Have my last performance at the university hall tomorrow night, then I might be leaving town. Recital booking I can't turn down. Ticket is reserved for you, please come_.

 _I'll be there_ , she replied, and her daze faded, and when it had, there was no fear left.

\--

Her ticket was in the front row, and she exchanged friendly nods with the people either side of her seat. She hadn't wanted to come in too early or too late, so about half the seats were full, and the box office had SOLD OUT stamped over tonight's recital, so it seemed Genevieve's popularity had spread since her performances last week. Danneel felt an odd sort of protectiveness, smugness - all these people coming to see Genevieve, and of all of them, it was only her that Genevieve wanted to see.

Danneel looked down at the program she'd taken from the usher without looking, and when she opened it, her breath caught in her throat - because on the front page was a print of her art. The art she'd done two days ago, already here in color print. It was a digital photograph, but good quality, and it was, god, it was hers - this was the first time she'd seen anything of hers in anything more official than the binding of her final year project, and it felt incredible.

It was a square on the intro page where usually there'd be an image of Genevieve, and underneath, it said _Painting - 'Genevieve' by Danneel Harris. Used with thanks_. It was a good a title as anything. It may as well have been titled _'Obsession with Genevieve_ ', like she was telling the world about it, how she felt and her face was hot with it - but no-one knew who she was.

Even if they did, she wouldn't mind. That's mine, she'd say. Genevieve's mine.

The lights dimmed, and Genevieve walked on, the room applauding. Genevieve was wearing dark red again, a long dress, strapless and simple, her hair loose and gorgeous. She was beautiful, and Danneel let it sweep through her, how much she wanted Genevieve, how much she - felt for her, how much she'd changed Danneel's world in such a short time. It was crazy and inexplicable, like something from a book or movie, and it was perfect, it felt like Danneel's life up until now had been in limbo just waiting.

Genevieve thanked the crowd, and when she looked along the front row and saw Danneel, she said "Thank you," a second time, and no one else knew it was just for Danneel.

Her performance was as breathtaking as the first time; different, though, of course, because Danneel knew her, now, knew her performance, could see her quirks and individualities, could see where the Genevieve she recognized from her original pieces bled into the existing piece and made it come alive.

It went too quickly, and at the same time, not quickly enough. Danneel could have watched Genevieve play forever, but everything in her ached for it to be over so she could see her properly.

When it was done, the audience applauded longer and louder than they had last time Danneel had been there - Genevieve ducked her head, and caught Danneel's eye as it trailed off.

She smiled at Danneel, then looked out over the audience.

"Thank you for coming, and thanks to the university for hosting me this week. Tonight is my last night in town; I have recitals booked in Europe starting next week, so I want to thank you for your hospitality in this great city."

Everyone applauded again as Genevieve left the stage, and Danneel did too, but she was thinking, _Europe_?

She waited awkwardly in her chair as everybody left, and craned her head around until she saw Genevieve waiting in the wings of the stage, beckoning.

Danneel looked around as the last few people left the room, and scrambled up onto the stage, feeling odd and exposed, and hurried over to where Genevieve was waiting, then followed her down backstage to the prep room.

"Hi," said Genevieve, playing awkwardly with her hair. "Uh, thank you for coming."

"You're going to Europe?" interrupted Danneel. She clamped her hand over her mouth - she hadn't meant to open with that. "Sorry."

Genevieve looked at her steadily. "My agent only confirmed it this morning - a small collection of recitals across Paris and Berlin and maybe London. I couldn't say no."

"No, of course," said Danneel automatically. "You leave tomorrow?" That didn't make sense - Genevieve couldn't just _leave_ , not now.

Genevieve bit her lip. "Why are you here?"

"You asked me to come."

Genevieve nodded, and then stepped closer, reaching out a hand. Just the thought of Genevieve being close to her again, touching her, made Danneel's heart rate pick up. "But I mean - are you--?"

 _Here because you want me_. "I'm sorry," started Danneel, and Genevieve's face changed; she dropped her hand and started to move away.

"Gen, no!" said Danneel quickly, and took up that distance with a step, reached out to grab Genevieve's hand and pull her in close. "No, I meant - I'm sorry about the weekend. I freaked out, I shouldn't have. I just - I hadn't realized how I felt about you ‘til that moment. I was stupid and oblivious, and it scared me. It was a lot to take in, and I ran. I was cowardly."

"I'm sorry," said Genevieve, looking up at Danneel, "if I did anything to push you or--"

Danneel laughed and tugged Genevieve in a little closer. "No. God, no. I was - I think I was crazy about you the first night I saw you. I just didn't figure it out. Please can you - kiss me again?"

"God, yes," breathed Genevieve, and leaned up and in, and they were kissing.

Danneel dropped her hold on Genevieve's arm and brought both hands up to cradle Genevieve's face, and Genevieve slid her arms around Danneel's waist and arched in close. Her body was small, warm and lithe against Danneel's, and the swell of her breasts pressing in against Danneel's felt new, exciting and unbelievably sexy. She kissed Genevieve fiercely, their mouths opening wider and desperate against each other, Danneel licking over the roof of Genevieve's mouth, Genevieve catching her tongue and sucking on it slow and hot.

Danneel's body lit up all over, slow heat thrumming through her, intense and building - she could feel every inch of her skin, from her fingers cupping Genevieve's cheek though to the sensitive awareness of her breasts, tingling down into her nipples, and she wanted - oh, god, if they only had tonight, she wasn't going to think about it, but she wanted to do anything and everything she could.

She broke the kiss, but dragged her lips over Genevieve's jaw and down her throat, not pulling away even an inch. "I want," she murmured into the pulse in Genevieve's neck, "I want everything. Fuck."

Genevieve pulled back enough to catch Danneel's eye, and she was grinning, something small and mischievous. "Can you - indulge me in something? Something I've been thinking about."

Danneel raised an eyebrow and, feeling giddy and reckless, agreed. "Sure. What?"

Genevieve just grinned at her. "Stay there," she said, and left the room - Danneel could hear her talking to someone, then footsteps leaving, then lights going off in the recital hall outside.

Genevieve appeared at the door. "Come on," she said. "I've asked the backstage staff to leave and I'll finish up the closing down of the area."

"What are you planning?" asked Danneel, wary but amused despite herself, and Genevieve just grabbed her hand and tugged, pulled them laughing back through the corridor onto the stage again. The curtains were pulled shut, so it was just the quiet private space of the stage behind them; the piano still stood proud and spotlit in the middle of the stage.

"Come here," said Genevieve, and pushed Danneel down onto the stool in front of the piano.

"What, do you want me to play?" joked Danneel. "I promise I'm awful."

"No," said Genevieve with a grin. "Just something I was imagining while I was playing tonight."

She sauntered up to Danneel, the soft fabric of the dress clinging to the curve of her hips, and Danneel's mouth went dry. "Oh," she said, then closed her eyes as Genevieve sat sideways down in her lap and turned her head to kiss her.

Danneel grabbed onto her hips as the kiss turned dirty again, and felt dizzy, giddy at the heat of Genevieve's body, so close through the dress, soft weight of her ass between Danneel's thighs. "God," she said, and started gathering up Genevieve's dress on her hands until she met the hot soft skin of Genevieve's thigh. "C'mon," she urged into Genevieve's mouth, urging Genevieve to throw one leg over Danneel's, which did without breaking the kiss, until she was straddling Danneel, her feet just steadying herself on the floor either side.

It was intensely intimate like this, Genevieve's bare thighs pressed against Danneel's hips, dress bunched up around her waist. Danneel ran her hands up and down Genevieve's legs, fingers playing over the strip of elastic of Genevieve's panties, her ass and god, her _pussy_ right there, so close. Genevieve was rocking softly but insistently into her, little sounds building in her throat.

She breathed in deep when Danneel broke the kiss. "God, I thought about this, thought about - fucking you on the stool. I didn't - I wasn't sure you'd even want me, didn't think I'd get it."

Danneel kissed down Genevieve's neck, tasting the clean fresh tang of her skin, suckling over the knob of her collarbone, enthralled with all the delicate parts of Genevieve's body. "I was stupid," she said, "how could I not? You're - god, Genevieve, you're exquisite, every bit of you." Her mouth pressed kisses down until she brushed the top of the dress just where the swell of Genevieve's breasts started, and Danneel looked up. "Can I--"

"God," breathed Genevieve. "Zipper."

Danneel moved her hands out from under Genevieve's dress and fumbled for the zipper at the back of the dress, pulled at it and rumpled the dress down to bunch with the rest around Genevieve's waist.

Genevieve's tits were gorgeous, round and soft and beautifully bare; Danneel's belly swooped hot and urgent just looking at them, the sheer reality of them here for her to touch, and she wondered how the fuck she hadn't realized she was a least a little bit gay before, with how much Genevieve's tits turned her on. She moaned softly, dropping her head forward just to nose along the sinful soft curve, then latched onto a peaked dark nipple with her lips, feel Genevieve's gasp and the rumble of her moan as Danneel sucked on it.

She felt powerful and sexy, making Genevieve shake with the swipe of her tongue and seal of her lips, the outward swell of Genevieve's breast giving as she pressed her face into it; she cupped the other one with her hand, the soft natural weight of it feeling unbelievably good in her palm.

Genevieve moaned and shifted, and Danneel startled at the clash of discordant notes; Genevieve had leaned backwards and supported herself on the open piano, her tiptoes on the floor, body arched gorgeously backwards, pressing her tits up into Danneel's mouth.

Danneel worked Genevieve's nipple over thoroughly, rolling it gently between her teeth and biting down lightly just to hear Genevieve moan, before putting her hand between Genevieve's shoulder blades and pulling her forward again to kiss her.

"Oh god, you're good with your mouth," gasped Genevieve.

Danneel felt slow and stupid with the sheer hotness of Genevieve mostly naked in her lap, the weight and motion of her rocking sending little teases of friction between her legs. "Can--" she said, dizzy and embarrassed and eager with the thought, "can I eat you out? I've been thinking about it, I've never--"

"Danni," said Genevieve, the nickname sounding sweet from her mouth, where it had grated her from Mark, "you don't ever have to ask that."

Danneel's mouth watered, and she swept one hand under Genevieve's ass and the other around her back, and stood up, turning and setting Genevieve back down on the stool.

Genevieve moaned, and lifted her hips to let Danneel work off the damn dress, throw it to the side, then she was spreading her legs on the stool, nothing but her small, neat black panties left on.

Danneel knelt carefully on the floor in front of the stool, between Genevieve's spread thighs, and looked up at her.

Genevieve patted the side of her face, her long fingers curving around Danneel's jaw. "It's gonna be good for me whatever. Don't think too much."

So Danneel didn't - she let her body shift into instinct, like when she was painting, letting her unconscious mind do it for her. She slid Genevieve's panties off, kissed along her thighs, then pressed her hands to the inside of Genevieve's legs and pushed them open further. Genevieve sighed and dropped her head back, tilting her hips up invitingly; her pussy was right there, clearly swollen and aroused, wetness gleaming where her lips separated and the slit of her red cunt peeked through.

It was scary - it was another woman, it was something she'd never done - but it wasn't. Because she knew, technically, how it worked, and this was Genevieve, someone she couldn't be scared of. She pressed a kiss to the center, breathing in the rich wet scent of Genevieve, getting a slick touch of Genevieve's wetness on her mouth, before she eased Genevieve's pussy lips open with her thumbs and ran her tongue up through her middle gently, swirling around the hood of Genevieve's clit in firm circles.

Genevieve reacted instantly, moaning loud, and her thighs tensing around Danneel's head; Danneel smiled and repeated the motion, with her other hand rubbing around the wet slick entrance to Genevieve's cunt. She pointed her tongue and wriggled it under the hood to flicker right against Genevieve's clit at the same time she slid two fingers inside her, and Genevieve wailed above her, shuddering and arching on the stool. It felt incredible - her knees were sore on the hard floor and her jaw was starting to ache as she ate at Genevieve eagerly, but she couldn't feel it, not really; all she could feel was the hot, velvety clutch of Genevieve's cunt around her fingers and the tangy, rich taste of Genevieve's juices, the taste familiar in a way from the smell of her own sex that she knew, but something wholly new, too, because it was Genevieve, and it was incredible.

Genevieve's thighs went hard and tight around Danneel's head, and she came fast and sudden, vice-like spasms of her cunt around Danneel's fingers relaxing into long, drawn-out fluttering pulses. Danneel drew her fingers out gently, pressed a few light kisses to Genevieve's pussy as she came down, then sat up, stretching out her knees and licking her fingers clean.

Genevieve rocked forward on the stool to rest her elbows on her thighs, head hanging forwards as she caught her breath, and Danneel couldn't help feel a little bit smug - for a first time it seemed to have gone pretty well.

Genevieve lifted her head and smiled at Danneel, dazed. "You--" Her gaze and smile sharpened. "--Are wearing way too many clothes."

Danneel had hardly noticed she was still totally dressed in her dark jeans and tight sweater; she'd been so focused on Genevieve, getting her naked and seeing her and making feel good; she'd been able to sense her own body's reaction, of course, but it hadn't seemed the important part. Until now, of course, with Genevieve looking at her like that.

Genevieve stood up and backed Danneel up against the piano, gloriously naked in contrast. She nipped at Danneel's lips. "That was amazing, baby. Thank you." Then her hands slid under Danneel's sweater, hot against her belly, and Danneel gasped, legs going to jelly.

"This sweater does amazing things for your tits," said Genevieve, "but it's gotta go - oh," she said, stripping it off, staring at Danneel in just her bra, in a way that had made Danneel feel slightly uncomfortable when it had been Mark but somehow with Genevieve it just made her feel sexy and wanted. She leaned back on the piano, smiling at the tinkle and clash of notes, and let Genevieve undo her bra and cup her breasts reverently, gasping when Genevieve squeezed them gently. She felt sensitized and responsive and like she'd die if Genevieve didn't get her mouth - oh, god, yes. Genevieve suckled her nipple slow and hot, rubbing the flat of her tongue over it until Danneel was worried she might come just from that, her body winding up tighter.

"Oh, god, Gen, stop," she said at last, shaking, and Genevieve looked up, frowning until she saw Danneel's face.

"Too much," said Danneel weakly.

"God, you're amazing," said Genevieve, and worked her fingers at Danneel's fly. "Let me see all of you."

Danneel nodded, hoisted herself up onto the keys of the piano for a moment as Genevieve pulled her jeans all the way off, the discordant jangle of notes making her laugh. "Told you I couldn't play the piano."

Genevieve smirked and pulled her in close, and kissed her again - both naked now, and the touch of so much skin against hers felt decadent and amazing, and her hand roamed over Genevieve's body restlessly.

"What do you want?" whispered Genevieve.

"Your hands," said Danneel immediately. Not that she didn't want her mouth, at some point, but Genevieve's hands were something else, so elegant, long-fingered, talented; the sight of them dancing lightly over the keys had enthralled Danneel from the start, and now, god, now the thought of those fingers inside her seemed filthy, exciting, impossible. "Please."

"Happily." Genevieve kissed her, and trailed her hand up the inside of Danneel's thigh slowly. Danneel's legs parted helplessly as she leaned back into the piano, letting Genevieve press in closer.

Genevieve teased her, running her fingers along the crease of Danneel's thigh, so close but not where she wanted it; she ran her short neat nails over the trimmed patch of hair over Danneel's mound until the scratchy tickle made her moan and shift her hips restlessly. "Please, you - god, come on!"

Genevieve laughed. "When I want to, darling, and no sooner," she said, but she relented the teasing somewhat, running one finger lightly down between Danneel's lips, ghosting over her clit and dipping in to where she was wet, throbbing and ready. She slid the tip of her finger just inside, and Danneel clenched around it as if she could suck her in deeper, but Genevieve just kept rubbing it in firm circles around the entrance, making Danneel's cunt clench and ache for more.

"Oh god, please," she moaned, head thrown back, the edge of the piano digging into her back and she tried to spread her thighs wantonly, getting past any shame into desperation as Genevieve's cruel teasing fingers played with her so lightly. "You gotta give me more, c'mon."

Genevieve grinned and leaned in to kiss her neck, light sucking kisses that made Danneel's skin rise up in shivery-good goosebumps.

"Alright, since you asked." She pointed her finger and pressed it up deep into Danneel's body, reaching lovely long inches inside her, and it was good, it was, but it wasn't - enough--

Genevieve wasn't done, though - she rocked her finger in and out a few times then pressed in two, the other fingers curled, a blunt pressure against the side of Danneel's cunt, a promise, maybe. Three fingers then, and Genevieve crossed them at the tips, a narrowing long presence inside her, better, so much better.

"More," she gasped. Danneel had always liked things big - her men, or her toys, she liked the stretch and satisfaction of something large filling her, the edge of stretching pain nicely offsetting the deep, intense waves of orgasm she got when she was really full.

"You sure, Danni?" murmured Genevieve, still kissing her neck.

"Please," gasped Danneel, and so Genevieve did - she drew her three fingers out, leaving Danneel feeling empty, and then pushed them back in. At first the addition of the little finger wasn't a whole lot more, but when the base of Genevieve's fingers snugged up against her cunt, it was a stretch, it was a presence that made Danneel hiss as her body resisted the width. Then the slippery mess of her juices and the firm insistence of Genevieve's hand slipped that bump of Genevieve's palm inside her.

Danneel couldn't make a noise for a moment, her body adjusting, dealing with that stretch, the fullness, sensation sending shivery warning shocks through her legs. Genevieve's thumb was resting outside her body, up through the center of her pussy, the pad resting her her clit - she rubbed it gently, and the intensity of it made Danneel twitch and whine hard through her teeth.

"Shhh," said Genevieve, rubbing even lighter, until it faded and it was just good, so good, the light stimulation of her clit in time with the throb of her cunt. "Shhh, you're doing so good."

"Your hands," said Danneel wildly, because that was all she could manage, thinking of those beautiful long fingers stretched all the way up inside her. "Your hands, god."

"Do you want--?"

"Do it. Come on, please, I want all of you."

"Oh, fuck," breathed Genevieve, and drew her hand out enough to start working the thumb in alongside.

Genevieve's hands were slim, but long, and when the bulge of her knuckles including the thumb started pressing at her, it seemed too big, too much, no matter how much she wanted it.

"Come on, baby," coaxed Genevieve, "relax for me, I know you can, I know you want to - being so damn good for me."

Genevieve distracted her with a kiss, her beautiful mouth soft and sweet, her breasts brushing against Danneel's and all the while she pressed in carefully, firmly.

Danneel could feel the ridge and bump of each knuckle against her hot, stretched skin, and Genevieve kept up the pressure - it was going, it was going, and then there was pain, a tiny flash of it, and then the indescribable sensation of the widest part popping in and her cunt closing back down over Genevieve's hand towards her slim wrist.

Her hand was inside Danneel, fingers and thumb, and now that Danneel's entrance wasn't stretched, the pain was gone, but the intensity of the fullness still felt like too much to deal with. The muscles in Danneel's thighs twitched and jumped, her heart was pounding a heavy, thudding rhythm in her chest and in her cunt, gripping Genevieve's hand close and hot with each pulse.

"So good, so beautiful," praised Genevieve.

Danneel couldn't speak; she just moaned and found Genevieve's mouth to kiss her again, trying to thank her and tell her how amazing it was to have this, how it felt.

"Should I move?" whispered Genevieve, and Danneel nodded.

Danneel could feel Genevieve's fingers moving, stretching up inside her, uncurling and going deep, and she arched back and shuddered all over when Genevieve started thrusting her hand; she couldn't move very much as the width of her palm stopped her pulling out much, but the hot slippery insides of Danneel's cunt let her thrust well enough, able to push her fingers deep, right up against Danneel's cervix almost, a dull pressure that could've hurt but just amped up the intensity of feeling so full, so fucked.

Genevieve moved her fingers inside Danneel, a gentle flex, like she was playing Danneel as expertly as she did her piano; it was an insane thought, but an incredible one. Danneel could feel her orgasm coming, a growing awareness of her body like a light building in a tunnel before you felt the rumble of the train, the anticipation making her flush hot all over.

"Gen," she pleaded, and Genevieve smoothed her other hand over Danneel's belly, a soothing rub before she rubbed over Danneel's mound and circled the heel of her palm right over Danneel's clit, the dull pressure perfect to light the spark.

It was incredible - it started in her toes, swept up her body in rolling pulses, waves rising up and then cresting in a supernova centered around her cunt. The first tight clench around Genevieve's hand sent deep shockwaves of pleasure rebounding through her, making her yell, feeding into the next pulse, and Genevieve fucked her through it, little thrusts of her hand inside Danneel's soaked cunt as it fluttered wildly around her.

She zoned out, head buzzing with the intensity of the orgasm and leaving her dumb and pliant as it faded; the next thing she was fully aware of was of Genevieve easing her hand out, the stretch nearly painful at the widest part, but she was so relaxed and wet that it slid out pretty easily. She groaned as she was left empty, Genevieve's whole hand gleaming and wet.

"Holy shit," she mumbled, and Genevieve looked at her with awe.

"That was incredible," she declared.

"Mmmf," said Danneel, and leaned forward to drop her head into the crook of Genevieve's neck.

Genevieve rubbed her back soothingly with her dry hand, then coaxed Danneel upright and got them both to the staff bathroom off the prep room to get them washed up and dressed.

\--

"That was definitely not how I was anticipating the evening would end," said Danneel with a goofy grin as they locked up the theater.

Genevieve laughed. "Me neither. I mean - I hoped something - but, whew."

"Where are we going now?"

"There's this coffee shop on campus that's open late. I thought we could talk."

At that, some of Danneel's euphoria faded. "You - you're going to Europe."

Genevieve tugged on her hand. "Come on."

They sat in a booth, faced each other over the table, hands wrapped around mugs of coffee.

"Yeah," said Genevieve finally. "I'm going to Europe."

"But you're coming back, right?"

Genevieve didn't say anything right away, and Danneel felt herself start to panic. "But we just - you can't just leave!"

"I have to - but Danni, listen." Genevieve put her mug down and leaned across the table, wrapped her hands around Danneel's. "You can come with me."

"A vacation?"

"I was thinking more - indefinitely."

Danneel blinked, and laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

Genevieve shook her head silently.

"But - come on. I have a life here. I barely know you, not really. I can't just - leave and go to, to Paris with you!"

Genevieve quirked her mouth. "Why not?"

Danneel spluttered. "Because - because--" But she couldn't really get beyond that. Just _because_. People didn't do this sort of thing.

Genevieve was looking at her earnestly. "I can play, you can paint, we can figure out the rest once we get there. Look - I get it's crazy. Maybe it is. But you feel this, right? You're looking at this objectively, at the facts and the logic - but love isn't objective."

"Love?" Danneel shook her head. "I don't know - this is crazy. None of this makes sense. What I feel - what you're suggesting--"

Genevieve smiled. "Love is like art. It's not facts, any more that music is just notes on a page or art is just paint on canvas. It transcends its composition. Like us - look at us - we're just two girls who met. That's facts. Except we're not, we're _more_ than that - we're epic, baby. We can be anything."

Danneel stared at her. "You're insane," she said slowly, then felt herself start to smile helplessly. "I don't know-- how would we live? What about money, and work, and--"

"We can figure it out, I have work contacts and some family there. Trust me. And just – think about it, right now. Really think about it. You think we hardly know each other, but I know you well enough to see that where it matters - at your core - it's not money and jobs and logistics. It's art and freedom and love."

"You really think I'm that impulsive and romantic?"

"Yeah." Genevieve smiled, caught her lip between her teeth. "I do."

Danneel pictured it; she couldn't help it. Wide blue skies, history steeped into the narrow streets, Genevieve sitting at a Parisian cafe, smiling at her, long fingers around a coffee cup, music and art washed through the air between them, all around them.

Maybe she'd already made this decision, without realizing it. She'd already quit her job, made plans about the house, like a part of her knew this would happen, was just waiting for Genevieve to ask. Waiting for Genevieve to take her to a new life. And whether it lasted forever between them, or ended up no more than a wild fling that started here and ended in some European city far from home, Danneel wanted it; wanted to trace this path to see how far they could go, what her life could truly be. And whatever happened - she had her art, now. She'd never be able to regret anything, for that.

"Paris, London, Berlin," she said, shaking her head. "Can we fit in Rome?"

Genevieve smiled wide at her, bright and happy. "Anything. We can do anything."

"Then yeah. Yeah, okay. Let's do this."

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel so inclined to leave a comment, please do so here or [At the LJ post](http://lazy-daze.livejournal.com/725197.html#comments). Thank you! :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] The Hand, the Head, and the Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/761597) by [exmanhater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmanhater/pseuds/exmanhater)




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